Dear you
by ipodder
Summary: His stubble clashed with her smooth chin, but she welcomed the sensation, because the combination of wine on his breath and the musky cologne was too intoxicating to resist. Brulian One-shot. Post 6x14.


**After feeling inspired to write a Brulian one shot (after 6x14 who wouldn't be?) this random one shot came out. I'm not too thrilled about it, but thought, why not? Please review. **

'It would be' _amazing, passionate, what he is aching for right now._

'Yes' _Yes, it would be whatever he's thinking right now._

She knew it was coming, even as she was blowing out the candles, that he would come rushing back. That was the kind of guy he is, unpredictable. It didn't surprise her that as she uttered the three letter word, in hopes of stopping whatever may be brewing, that they would be abandoning logic and going _at it_.

She took a step closer to him and met his eyes, they weren't confident or assured, but they were naked and perhaps even vulnerable. Before she could react, his lips met hers, and it wasn't a fiery kiss with tongues and open mouths as she would have imagined from him, from the playful banters, instead it was soft, gentle, perhaps even a bit tentative and unsure. His stubble clashed with her smooth chin, but she welcomed the sensation, because the combination of wine on his breath and the musky cologne was too intoxicating to resist. As his lips traced the top of hers, the bottom and then finally capturing her mouth, she was panicking inside, but the butterflies were good, and it's been _so long_ since she was this intimate with someone she actually _cared about_. Those guys in New York were just contact lists to delete, or to call during empty nights. But the scary thing about Julian Baker is that she actually feels like she can _love_ him.

She doesn't know how they ended up on her couch, with her straddling him, her tongue in his mouth, attempting to feel all of him. She rubbed herself against him and it only results in him kissing her harder. The lights were off, and Sam was…

_Sam._

'Hello', the snarky sarcastic voice cut through the room, and she froze halfway through the kiss, and faced the smirking, yet apparently temporarily blinded foster daughter. Julian muttered a 'hello Samson' and sighed.

'Um, Julian, your hands are still on my foster mother's boobs, and I'd like to get a good sleep tonight, thanks'.

The skateboard was grabbed and Sam left, the smirk still prominent on her face.

Of course that Avril brat had to tell Peyton, who also carried on the trend of wearing that chesire cat smirk on her face. Pretty soon everyone knew and Julian became Jamie's 'aunt Brooke's kissing friend'.

As she sat with him in the conference room, discussing the movie with Lucas and the production team, she couldn't help but be touched at his attempts to explain to the bratty actress playing _herself_ how Brooke Davis had two personalities, and she certainly didn't miss the loving glance from him when he said that those who have the chance to see _all _of her are the _luckiest_ people on _earth_.

If she didn't think that Lucas Scott was so self involved, she would have noticed a reflective, approving smile from his handsome features as well. But sensitive, slightly too idealistic writers always picks up on these things.

They've been togeher for a month now. They've settled into a routine, LA on weekends, iChat and flirty texts and midnight phone calls in between. Tuesday night was their family night, with Sam and Jack too, sometimes.

They're not married, nor engaged and they haven't even uttered those three words yet.

She's fostering a fifteen year old who may or may not stay with her forever.

He's got the movie, his father and his past with Peyton, which is still awkward, but makes her feel comfortable sometimes, almost like they're one big, entwined but messy family.

But those _complicating _factors hardly affects them five days out of the seven.

They leave it all in Tree Hill during weekends in LA.

Every other week is spent apart, countless hours on iChat is spent bantering.

And seven days of the week is spent being so cheesily, heart wrenchingly, irritatingly gut wrenchingly _in love_.

She never needed a fairytale, a handsome prince and the white picket fence.

Her witty, plaid wearing boyfriend and her snarky, skater foster daughter is _her _own fairytale come true.

What does Cinderella have on that?


End file.
